It seemed to take such a long time for warmer weather to arrive in the Northeastern United States. Though 2021 has been much less tumultuous than 2020, emerging from the cocoon that I’d buried myself in has not been easy. I’m sure that most of you agree that coming to the point of a “new normal” has not been a straightforward path.
My adrenaline has been pumping so hard and so long, that sitting still has become impossible. I figit, can’t get comfortable, and have difficulty focusing on anything, especially the details that are so important to writing. And my moods swing from hyperactive to phlegmatic, and it’s hard to get out of bed, then hard to get out of the house.
Last Sunday the temperatures rose into the high 70’s and there was no wind. I stared at my back patio which was a mess, with flats of plants to be put in, pots filled with straggly geraniums that made it through the grow lamp illumination in the basement, and lots of leaves and twigs.
It was too nice to stay inside so I promised myself I only had to clean up one corner. I started with the iris bed, which was past its peak, with dead leaves imbedded in the day lilies coming up around them. But before I got my garden gloves on Mother Nature provided a hard stop.
At first I thought they were flies, but on closer inspection I realized they were bees flittering around the bed. I wasn’t getting any closer. Just like when I hit a block when writing and use any excuse to avoid getting in my daily pages.
But the busy bees motivated me to do something, and I quickly filled two bags full of leaves and twigs. I organized the pots, and cultivated the containers that will soon hold vegetable plants. I tied the spent daffodils and tulip leaves with twine so I could weed the bed along the driveway where I will plant impatiens. Things looked so much better, and before I went back inside, there were only one or two bees left, and I was safely able to tidy the garden bed.
Gardening is a lot like writing. Real life gets in the way and stifles your creativity. Every word seems like struggle, but once you get started and connect with the rythym the sentences come together. Sometimes you have to detour to another part of the garden to cultivate an inspiration buzzing around in your head before you head back to finish what you started.
So, what has the emergence on the other side of the pandemic been like for you?